Everything is Bigger in Skyrim
by CaliforniaTD
Summary: Short story. Dark elf enchanter Tilse Dres is on a solo trip to Whiterun when she encounters a suspicious breton merchant who asks peculiar questions. Later on, an ambush in the morning answers all of them, and raises a few more.


**Hiya, everybody!  
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**After several (unfinished) extended writing projects, I've decided to make a collection of short stories in the world of the Elder Scrolls. All of my characters are based off of ones I've played with ingame, as well as those of my friends (this first one is based off of my best friend's first Skyrim Player-Character).**

**Keep in mind that there won't be any Dragonborns**** or Neravarines. Just ****average joes slugging around and making their way in Tamriel (though not without a lot of visceral swordfighting, explosive magic****, and intrigue).**

**This will be the first of many short stories, written in the vein of the pulp magazines of old. They will all be connected, though still somewhat self contained.**

**Sit back and enjoy. Keep in mind that the story is rated M for strong violence, some language, and crude humor and sexual innuendo.**

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><p>The lassoed food pack was flung upward over the branch, the gray, feminine hands on the opposite end of the cordage tying a thick knot around a nearby, more scrawny tree.<p>

Tilse Dres took a few steps back to observe her handiwork. Part of her wanted to see a bear come and struggle to get the goods out of her pack to gorge its belly with, but most of the years she camped out in the wilderness, she had to deal with little more than squirrels, skeevers, and cave rats coming to consume her perishables.

The dark elf woman dusted off her hands, calloused from decades of smithing and every so slightly discolored from years of enchanting. She plopped down near the blazing campfire, which she tended with a nearly skinless forked stick. The travel pot was hung with portable blackened steel bars, boiling a gallon of stew, chock full of potatoes, carrots, onions, tomatoes and beef, amassed with salted spices from Hammerfell. The war axe beside her suddenly arched and snarled with electric energy, startling her slightly before she came to her senses.

Tilse was not the type to travel light, partly because she was a bit of a hoarder, but mostly because she had the proper means to lug around several kilograms of goods and contraband cross country. She was an enchanter, one who magically alters possessions such as weapons and clothing, to increase the item's practicality and edge. Her backpack was enchanted to feel light as a feather when it would normally break her back from the mountains of possessions she had in it.

She was well aware that she looked awfully silly hauling around a backpack with junk hanging out of the interior and attached to the sides, and made her a juicy target for bandits and robbers. It was however, an understatement to say she had more than a few methods to fight them off, not excluding an iron headed hand axe that put people in a state of paralysis and set them on fire when drawing blood.

She had several weapons enchanted, leaving her favorites in her home in Cyrodiil. One lie to the left of her, a curved ebony sword with a hilt made of onyx and jeweled with topaz, which she herself forged. The second was on her left, an orcish war axe forged from Orichalcum and oak, enchanted and overcharged with electricity.

Her legs bowed and locked into a safety position upon the harshness of Skyrim's soil. Her gray skin, quilted clothing and crimson eyes blotted by the amber glow of the fire. She looked above the tree line, through the leaves, the sky clear enough for every star in the sky to be spotted. She leaned over, her hand gripping the rusted edge of a ladle, withdrawing no more than an ounce of the stew's tangerine colored broth, which she placed to her lips.

_Delicious._Though the contents did not look quite done, as the beef was still slightly pink. The ladle was returned its place, Tilse sinking back to a hunch, her elbows propped on her knees and one hand tending to the fire.

A snap was heard to the southwest, closely followed by the sound of rustling and the dislocation of open air, prompting Tilse to grasp the ebony blade and sink lower to the ground, attempting to spot the source. Squinting through blades of grass as well as a large fallen branch, she could make out that the silhouette was far too small, bipedal and generally anthropomorphic to be a bear or other dangerous animal. Most telling of all was the torch it carried in its right hand.

Tilse's head raised high enough for the figure to see it, and her blade low enough for it not to. "Who goes there?" Was her bold inquiry.

"Uh-" The masculinity of the voice hinted the sex of the figure, sounding quite human as well. "I-"

"Who goes there?" The dark elf repeated, her voice more nettlesome this time.

"I uh- I'm just a trader." The man spoke, scratching his head. His purplish clothing and feathered hat implied that he was indeed a merchant of some sort, though still was not afraid to show that he was an endeavoring traveler, hence the mud-caked boots and worn wool poncho.

"I have no interest in your trinkets." She stood up, the ebony sword in her hand. "…if that is what you're peddling."

"I uh, I was actually going to ask some questions." He held up one of his hands, grasping a lapel of his overcoat and opening one side of it. "I'm unarmed by the way."

"Right." She nodded, holding her hand out and beckoning him toward her. He nodded and complied, stopping when she signaled him to. The torch was grasped out of his hand and thrown to the edge of the fireplace. She turned him around and patted him down from shoulders to ankles. When it was clear that he was indeed without armaments, she felt it was safe to turn his back on him. Due to a very pasty skin tone and palette effeminacy, he was most likely of the breton race.

"Sit down, have some stew. It's more than I can eat, anyway." Tilse sat down once more, taking a handful of small branches and placing them atop the fire when it started to become weaker.

"Thank you, dunmer." He bowed his head. "My name is Jupinal Greening, spice trader. Friends call me Jupe. And you are-" He held his hand out, ready to shake, a nervous smile on his face.

She narrowed the fire with the skinless branch, leaning back afterward and making eye contact. "Tilse Dres." She shook his hand cautiously. It was a horrible stereotype, but Bretons were somewhat known among other races and in some cases, even their own for being untrustworthy.

"Pleased to meet you. Dres, you say, as in House Dres? Are you nobility?" He inquired.

"When it suits me." Tilse dodged the question, grasping two bowls and two spoons from her utility backpack and handing one set to Jupe.

"Thank you. No matter, uh… nice night isn't it? The sights are gorgeous." The Breton giggled nervously looking around him.

Tilse dumped a ladleful of stew into her bowl, giving him a venomous glare. "If you're coming onto me you're doing an admirable job… failing at it that is."

"No, no, no, no, n-" Jupe slapped his own forehead and gritted his teeth. "I swear I'm not. It's… I'm in a complicated situation." He clasped his hands together, shaking them.

Tilse nodded, pouring the stew into his bowl and waited for what he had to say.

"It's just that, it's… a very nice clear night." He laughed again.

"Oh, Vivec's arse hairs! You're really starting to piss me off, Breton!" She pointed with the tip of her spoon. "Either spit it out, or shut up and let me eat."

"Uh… uhr." Greening could not make a sound after that, and they wordlessly began eating the stew, and drinking from their canteens for at least two or three minutes before he was startled by a noise. "What was that?" He gasped, throwing the near empty stew bowl out of his hands and standing up. His breath quickened and his heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest.

Tilse immediately spat out an onion and grabbed her ebony sword, standing up and spotting a hare, which sped out of a hollow log and darted through the woodland to the north.

Jupe was chewing into his nails. "What is it, what is it? Do you see what it i-"

"It's just a rabbit. Sit down." Tilse sighed, grabbing her overturned bowl with her right hand, her free hand grasping the ladle and refilling it.

"Oh, I- forgive me." The Breton laughed in relief. He grasped the rusted grip of the ladle when Tilse was done using it, and was once again startled by a sound, this time the axe discharging electricity, which sounded like a lesser thunder clap. "Mother of pearl!" He darted back.

"It's just my axe, you jumpy n'wah." Tilse reassured in a monotone voice, continuing with her soup.

"Oh." He inspected it. "Enchanted, right?"

"Yeah, illegally. I think I really overcharged that one. Has enough power to kill a small family of giants." She chewed on a rather large piece of beef, taking her water canteen and washing it down.

"Well… gee…" Jupe grimaced. "Illegal, eh?"

"Yeah. Go ahead and report me, I don't care. It's not like they'll be able to find me."

"No hard feelings milady, I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't involved in a few… illicit practices." He laughed nervously.

"Let me guess, rapist on the run?" Tilse began drinking the broth from the bowl.

"Absolutely not! No!" The Breton yelled, placing a hand over his face. "I don't even want to say anymore…"

"Alright." She placed her bowl down on the ground, plopping the spoon into its empty orifice. "You said you wanted to ask me some questions, so ask away. I gotta get some sleep."

"Right. Indeed." He placed a finger on his chin, his eyes rolling away, then back to Tilse. "Have you seen any… exotic animals today?"

Tilse snorted, a smirk on her face. "I see now. So that's what you're into, eh?"

"Gods damn it. Enough, enough. It's like conversing with an adolescent wood elf." Jupe stood up and brushed himself off. "I thank you for the stew and the hospitality, but I think its time I made my way out." He adjusted his hat.

"No problem, Jupe." She grabbed his torch and set it alight again, less bright than it was, and handed it to him. "What did you think of the stew, anyway?" Tilse leaned back, crossing her arms.

"Thought it was a bit… spicy." He adjusted the lapels and cuffs on his clothing and trotted off.

"Spice merchant my teats…" Tilse muttered, preparing yet another bowl of stew. She then saw two other figures approach Jupe midway, the first a catlike being, clearly that of the Khajiit race, and the second a bald nord.

Tilse listened to the conversation from where she sat. "Who were you speaking to, Jupe?" The khajiit asked, whetting a heavy wooden crossbow.

"Dunmer lady. Tried to ask if she's seen anything." Jupe replied, grabbing a handkerchief from his front pocket and blowing his nose with a few coughs.

"Well, what did she say?" The nord asked, clad completely in leather armor except for any headgear and the addition of a steel breastplate.

"She knows nothing. Let's go."

All three of them trotted off, disappearing into the dark forested night of Skyrim's Rift region.

"Stupid fetchers." She laughed callously.

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><p>Every once in a while the axe would discharge and wake her up briefly, causing her to slip in and out of slumber. The axe caused more problems than it was worth, and that type of enchanting should have been illegal for the irritating impracticalities alone.<p>

Around dawn, the axe began to go absolutely haywire, causing her to roll over in her blanket roll and nearly knock the small doorless tent apart. She moaned in utter annoyance, slipping the out of the embrace of her bedroll off and stepping out of the tent. The air was cold that morning, as it usually was in Skyrim. She yawned and grasped the bottom of the axe's handle, the best way to avoid injury. "You defective piece of guar shit, STOP DOING THA-"

The roar of the malfunctioning axe had drowned out the sound of an approaching animal that was clearly sneaking up behind her, the only reason she noticed this being that the noise was nearly constant, as if there was no footfall and merely rubbing of the ground and the surrounding branches.

Tilse turned to see an enormous mound of soot and khaki colored scales, with terrible reptilian eyes staring her down, a twig-like forked tongue convulsing out of a closed maw. The creature was obviously snake-like, inching its face closer to the center of the camp. It had to have been at least three meters long, and a quarter of that in width, a massive and terrifying creature.

Tilse could not find words to express her lack of gratitude for the particular situation. She took a few steps back then darted around the westernmost tree of the camp. The gargantuan snake lunged with a gaping mouth of jagged razor teeth coated in venomous saliva. The dark elf barely managed to evade the assault with the prior movement, feeling the rushing air from the snake's sudden leap.

Tilse was not at all certain about using the axe, as it was far too unstable and may even have backfired in the worst way possible if she were to use it on the serpent. Her best bet was the ebony blade or the hand axe in her pack, the former being the most viable option due to it being the easiest to get to as of then.

She jumped over the body of the creature before it had a chance to turn its front around and grasped the heavy curved blade by its hilt, leaping back into the body and hacking a gash into its side. Presumably, the creature had no nervous system, or had a very high threshold of pain, because it did not make a sound nor slow its pace in any way.

The behemoth arched around in a ring in a second attempt to lay claim to its prey, orating a loud primal hiss. All Tilse could do was take a leap as further back as her legs could propel her, resulting in her tripping and falling on her side, rolling away.

She did not bother to look back as she stood up, grabbing her ebony sword once again and sprinting to the south. Her adrenaline was so high that she did not tire the length toward the roadway. Leaving her boots at the campsite, her bare feet did receive a laceration or two from sharp twigs or jagged rocks. One stump of small vegetation near an elevated edge of the road sent her tripping and falling downward.

She took a deep breath as she sprawled on the dirt road, lifting her head to see that the creature was as fast as she feared, its movement temporarily locked in a sidewinder motion as it neared the road. She stood up, faking right, the massive vermin falling for the trick as it arced toward the position, promptly bringing its head back up and slithering into a lopsided U-turn to flank the dunmer.

The serpent brought opened its mouth hissing as its maw was left agape, its breath smelling of rotting animal carcasses and potent acid. Tilse thrust her sword upward, drawing her body back. The blade impaled the upper jaw of the creature to the hilt, the length of it stopping just short of its left eye. This got its attention as it flailed around in a panic, Tilse gripping it enough to where she was carried along with the seizures. Her arm was caught in the jagged upper teeth where it dragged back and forth across then painfully, searing venom burning into her wounds.

The ebony sword slid out, she and her weapons plopping downward like a trio of anvils. The bloodied right sleeve of her quilted doublet was torn off at the shoulder, falling to the ground like a weighty feather. She caught her breath, not wanting to surrender now, getting to her feet, her eye catching sight of the bloodied sword that lay apart from the fray. She began to limp toward it before the serpent cut her off - whether or not this was an intelligently tactical move or simply a reckless decision spawned from instinct was left to the imagination of the dunmer. Hastily she backpedaled for the axe, which was letting off serious shock convulsions. She could not afford to be reluctant at this point.

Both Tilse's hands grabbed the axe, the static burning into the nervous system of her appendage. The dunmer felt the tremendous snake breathing on her, close enough for her to feel blood droplets on the back of her neck from the previous affliction she bestowed upon it. She lifted the axe, yelling, turning and putting all her weight into a diagonal swing behind her.

The axe made contact with the creature's nose, tearing into it and sending the creature reeling back once more. The illegally enchanted axe began to clap with thunderous energy, discharging serious electric arcs through the air. She dived away, yelping as her wounded arm made contact with the dirt road, emanating a painful salty sensation.

The creature looked to the sky and screeched, the axe glowing a hot blue before completely bursting in a deafening explosion. The force blew a cavernous hole through the skull of the creature, taking its upper jaw completely and chucking barrages of gore in every direction. The body of the creature smacked into the center of the thoroughfare, twitching ever so slightly before becoming completely still.

Tilse laid on the ground, taking a breather and very gingerly rolling on her back. Her hands parted the hair from her face, her body sitting up and her crimson eyes surveying the damage.

As tough as it was to swallow, the defective axe had saved her life. It was a crude and overly conventional way of resolving the issue, but an effective one. Still, she did not feel she was brave or reckless enough to duplicate a weapon such as that.

Standing up she stumbled toward the ebony sword, her bare feet trampling on dollops of gore and displaced scales. She leaned over, grasping the sword by its onyx hilt and picking it off the soil. It was then when she heard an amalgamation of sound: the beating of hooves, the creaking of wood, the groaning of dynamos, and the large thuds of a much larger creature than the one she had faced.

Looking ahead, she spotted a caravan heading her way, a headpiece of armed men running ahead of it. It was not the men that were heading her way that mesmerized her, but the size of the wagons. Two of them had to be hauled by mammoths, indigenous to Skyrim, while one was hauled by oaths of horses.

The armed men, both Bretons in chainmail armor surveyed the scene, looking upon the slain serpent beast. From atop the lead wagon, a familiar figure in a feathered cap stood up behind the operator, the mammoth whining through its snout as it was brought to a stop.

"Tilse Dres?" Jupinal Greening gasped his fingers caged over the left side of his chest in shock.

The khajiit with the crossbow popped up from behind him, grimacing at the sight. "Well I guess the mystery is solved." He purred.

Tilse's frown sank lower than an ocean trench, fire dancing in her eyes. Her blood covered feet carried her past the two guards, the mammoths, and toward the side of the middlemost colossal wagon. The bald nord from the prior night dropped down off the roof of the wagon, his boots landing in a terrible thud as he withdrew a two handed steel bastard sword from a scabbard on his back, the sword hissing in its sheath. "There's nothing here to see, elf."

"Is there not?" Tilse muttered. The two mailed Breton guards ran behind her, one holding a spear and the other carrying a mace and shield. She placed her feet apart, her sword hand outward as her head looked back and forth to the nord and the two guards.

"No! No! There's no need to fight!" Jupe shouted, standing up on the back of the wagon and waving his hands. The effort proved fruitless as the three on one battle raged on below. Tilse stepped to the side, decapitating the spearhead of the pikeman. The stump caught fire from the enchantment, and the guard immediately dropped it, his nose being smashed by the jeweled hilt of the dunmer's weapon, causing him to plummet into the dirt before he had a chance to draw his dagger. Another blow from Tilse's ebony sword was parried by the bald nord, who locked the sword away from her and grasped her hair with one hand, yanking it and attempting to bash her face against the side of the massive cart.

She grit her teeth, reaching over with her left hand and jabbing him in the throat. He gasped and made a sickening hacking noise, his free hand letting go of her hair and grabbing his throat. His sword arm was still resiliant, however. Tilse wiggled the sword violently, the blade catching fire which bursted in a hot flash. The nord was thrown back by the force, his sword on the ground and his forearm ablaze as he tried to roll it out on the dirt.

Tilse smiled, chuckling. She was quite nauseous and sore from the beast's venom, but unafraid of humiliating these guards. Tilse was a good swordswoman, but far from the best, and her combative edge rest in her cunning and enchantments. It was likely that she would have been bested long ago if not for these skills.

The breton still on his feet bashed his shield into Tilse's upper back, the dark elf falling face first on the dirt. Up on the frontmost wagon, the khajiit aimed his crossbow at the enchanter's back as she attempted to stand up. Jupe rushed over and shoved his crossbow off aim, the catman turning and glaring at him. The breton then turned back and waved his hands in the air. "Stop this! All of it! At once! Hugh! I order you to cease!"

The mace wielding breton stopped, his timid eyes glancing at Jupe from under the brim of his helmet. He took a few steps back away from the dunmer as she climbed to her feet. She tromped over to the door, bringing her sword down and slicing the lock off it's chains. She grasped the handle and swung the door open.

Immediately greeted by the squawks of ferocious predatory birds in cages, as well as several croaks from small multicolored amphibians, she gazed upon them for a few seconds in amazement. She suddenly burst into discordant laughter when she put all the pieces together.

Jupe's boots hit the ground after he leaped off, yelping in pain as he sank to a squat. A bit high a drop it was, and he still could not get used to it. He limped over to the settling battlefield, stepping over the bald nord who was just now getting back on his feet.

"Good elf, you're wounded." Jupe nervously cleared his throat as she looked into her eyes, seeing several hints of lightheadedness and pain. "Hugh, fetch several bandages, healing balms and an antidote potion out of the supply wagon, will you? Also a replacement lock."

Hugh was about to protest his superior's request, but felt like it was not the best of options. He turned tail and strutted to the rear of the convoy. It was then that Tilse began to get too dizzy and nauseous to stand up, sinking to the ground and sitting in a safety position. Her bluish gray skin was moist and covered with sweat, her lungs and mouth still chuckling deliriously.

The guard returned in little more than a minute, placing the sack of supplies down and handing Tilse a transparent reddish bottle of antidote which he uncorked. Normally she would be suspicious of taking perishables from strangers, but considering the venom in her veins furnished an aberrant state of mind, she could care less about many a thing. The unpleasant liquid was poured down her gullet, tasting like a mixture of sour citrus and bitter tree bark.

Tilse sat there, hunched over for a few minutes as she waltzed in and out of a state of awareness. Soon she came to her normal consciousness, feeling a bandage being wrapped around her arm. She looked upward to see the bald nord standing with the two handed sword in hand, the flat side resting on his shoulder as he glared down at her and massaged his throat.

She cleared her throat. "That was a naga, wasn't it?" Was her query.

"Yes. From the Black Marsh province." Jupe mentioned, standing in between the khajiit and the nord.

"Even though I already know the answer..." Tilse coughed. "Might I ask how a cold blooded animal like that got into Skyrim?"

The nord spat on the ground. "If Prug'Dener here didn't relapse on skooma for the first time in years, he wouldn't have stripped naked and opened the naga's cart, letting it escape while he ran around and cartwheeled some m-"

"Sure, blame it on the damned cat." The khajiit groaned.

"We're blaming it on you because it's genuinely your fault, khajiit." The breton guard with the bloodied nose spoke up.

"Enough, enough, why do I even keep trying to pull you all together when you all come back apart minutes afterward!" Jupe shouted.

"That aside, it's not wise to let this woman spill the secret, not after we worked so hard to get these animals in the convoy." The nord added, coldly.

"What's it worth getting rid of me over a bunch of animals that I saw?" Tilse asked, noticing her sword was not on her person or anywhere near her, implying that it had been confiscated when she was half conscious.

"My cousin, the King of Camlorn." Jupe spoke.

"Camlorn?" Tilse asked. "Isn't that a city-state in the province of High Rock?"

"Indeed it is. And my cousin is its ruler." Jupe replied, beginning to pace around as he continued his explanation. "He's been funding a zoo in Camlorn, which he hopes will be comprised of all the animal species in Tamriel. We started with Black Marsh, since it was the most distant province, and we thought it would be best to... get it out of the way."

"That place was horrible." Hugh sighed. "We lost three of our guys rounding up these animals. I hate to see our work all go to waste."

"We tried our best to get our hands on a permit." Jupe continued. "But with the civil war going on here, and both the Archjarls uncooperative or unresponsive, we cannot get permission. And my cousin, the King, is not a man who deals with rejection too well."

"I see." Tilse nodded. "Well, in that case, one of you go ahead and stab me. Get it over with if you're so afraid of the secret letting out. Not to say I was going to tell anyone about this anyway, not that they would even care with the war and all."

No one would step up to the plate, the nord being the least reluctant and looking at Jupe for his say on this. The breton noble finally spoke up. "You won't be harmed." He grabbed a purse that hung from his belt, opening it and dabbling with its contents before closing it up and throwing it towards Tilse. "Four hundred septims for you. You can either say it was for neutralizing the naga or an assurance for keeping your lips sealed about this operation."

"Either way, works for all of us." Tilse chuckled, hanging the purse on her belt. "Sorry about killing the naga, though."

"It's not that big of a problem." Jupe smiled, snapping his fingers toward his underlings. "Go fetch the net and do what we have to do."

For a little while, Tilse assumed they had double crossed her, but their generally nonchalant behavior, as well as the bald man heading in the opposite direction toward the dead naga, she knew nothing was going to happen. Prug'Dener, the khajiit tapped her on the shoulder, handing her the ebony sword. Tilse mouthed a "thank you", and the khajiit trotted off.

In a few minutes, the men surrounded the dead naga, the nord plunging the sword into the belly of the massive serpent and cutting a crescent shaped gash. Several wiggling, thick, slimy strands of smooth scales spilled out into the net that was held in front of it, being caught in it.

One of the baby naga attempted to slither away, the nord bringing his greatsword under the middle of the little snake's trunk and harmlessly lifting it upwards with the flatside, plopping it in the net. All in all, there were about five.

"It was fortunate for us that the beast was female and pregnant. You can tell by the slight brownish coloration of the scales." Jupe spoke. "Books do tell you a lot."

"That thing fought like a hellhound..." Tilse gasped. "And you're telling me it was pregnant?"

"Indeed." Jupe nervously laughed. "So not all is lost, for our investment, at least."

As the crew carried the contents back to the wagons, the other two merely stood there for a moment. "I suppose this is goodbye, dunmer." Jupe smiled, his eyes not matching his mouth. "Unless you want to tell me where you're heading."

Tilse nodded. "Whiterun. I'm meeting a friend there."

"Ah, we were going to pass by there." His face contorted into a toothy grin. "We can wait for you to pack your stuff if you want to hitch a ride."

"I'm sorry, but I can't." Tilse responded. "Nice knowing you though."

"No hard feelings." They shook hands, smiling. "Perhaps we will run into one another some other da-"

The khajiit plopped one of the naga on the ground in front of them, all three of them staring at one another awkwardly. "This one was stillborn." Prug'Dener purred. After a few seconds he walked off.

"Anyway, see you some other time, breton." Tilse bowed her head and walked the other direction. Jupe batted a two finger salute and joined the others as they prepared the wagons, petting one of the tusks of the mammoths as he walked by.

Tilse was a few meters up the hill before the caravan started moving again. She stopped and looked back as she saw the massive land boats pass by, waving her hand, Jupe waving back and most of the other guards under his command making obscene hand gestures to her.

She smiled and continued back to her campsite. One never knew what to expect on Skyrim's roads.


End file.
